Cottonmouth
by Xazz
Summary: His only warning was a brief whistle and he stood up to catch the whistler when lips were being pressed against his own. Desmond only stopped for a moment before kissing back, his eyes falling closed, arms going around the whistler's neck. He knew exactly who it was because he knew that whistle and knew the feel of these lips against his. -oneshot-


borrowing my friend Ramona's universe to make my life a bit easier.

* * *

When the Kav hit they hit hard and played for keeps. That was about all Desmond knew about the Kav, and that they'd killed most of his friends, most of his family. He'd been a boy when the second mage war had ended and once again his entire nation had had to pick up and move somewhere else from Aleria to the western deserts and swamps where they'd lived for almost a hundred years now. They just wanted to be left alone, for Kav to leave them alone. The great age of chaeir'q pirates was over and now all they wanted was to be left in peace to pick up the pieces of their society Kav had decided they needed to destroy.

Now though Desmond could do something about it. Since the fall of their city state during the first mage war the chaeir'q lived in smaller groups, spread out from each other so when Kav attacked one of them they couldn't get all of them. They'd learned that lesson. Desmond's town of study constructed tents and houses made of hide and wood was as east as the chaeir'q dared to go to find some of the rainforest that had once been their home.

Desmond was standing by himself in front of the little houses, the charms on his belt jingled gently in the breeze as he waited for the first Kav soldier to show their face. The rest of the chaeir'q of his town had hidden themselves away in the swamp that backed their homes, knowing if something happened to him they'd have to flee. Chaeir'q weren't a warrior race by nature, and the spells for destruction often came hard to their tongue and even if they could the words were long and it was hard to keep them small, hard to keep them in control. Desmond was one of the few who'd trained in their only city where the valu'kal and a larger portion of their calta, singing warriors, were, to learn how to defend himself and his town. Only because his words were so small could he even attempt to become a calta; and he was good at it.

He heard them before he saw them, they were yelling as they ran up the short rise from behind bushes they'd built their town in, in the shadow of three large trees older than even the valu'kal. There was a small number of them, only twelve or so, all with swords, all with armor made of scaled leather, a few had a yellow starburst on their breast, a sign they'd killed chaeir'q before. Probably innocent people, women, men, children, who tried their best to defend themselves from a senseless slaughter.

Desmond felt the power wash over him and or the first time in months words flowed from his mouth like a river. And it was a river the Kav couldn't see, washing over them and sending them tumbling to the ground in a sprawling heap. They got to their feet but still the words came from Desmond. His mouth spoke destructive poetry (he honestly wasn't much of a singer), verse after verse that slammed into the soldiers again and again, crushing their armor into their bodies like a massive hammer. Soon one crumpled, falling onto his face and didn't get up, the others soon followed. Desmond could feel the words he spoke spreading out across his mid back, each letter tiny but legible, a few seconds behind the actual word itself. If you looked at Desmond's back you would read death in just about every word he spoke, it still made Desmond sick to think about sometimes, that all his words were wasted to kill people.

Finally the last soldier fell, all their bodies were small from Desmond crushing their bodies, turning them into mounds of flesh and leather. The river of words ceased and Desmond stood there, breathing a bit deep from talking so much and felt the last few words scrawl across his skin. He spoke too much for someone so young, bless be to Chaegoif that his words were small so he could continue to say them. Desmond looked down the little hill to the last soldier, the wore a metal breastplate and a helmet with a white mohawk on it. A commander. He'd just stood there and watched his men get murdered and was looking right at Desmond.

To his surprise the commander just turned and walked away, taking off his helmet like he was tired. Desmond stared after him in confusion and looked back at where the other chaeir'q were. He waved his arms, knowing they were watching, it was safe now. He stole a look down the hill to the Kav commander, he was still curious about them, about why he would just leave or hadn't joined his men for that matter. But his people were coming out from the thickly wooded swamp, their legs wet or muddy.

"It's safe," Desmond signed to them, the chaeir'q language, since you wouldn't waste words unless it was important. "We need to burn fourteen bodies."

"We should just leave them there," Shaun said, hands harsh, angry, "serves them right for attacking us for no reason."

Desmond stared at him, "We burn them so animals don't come and hurt us too," he said, also reminding everyone else why they buried the Kav soldiers, "and they are human."

"Humans who murder us," Clay said, not nearly as angry as Shaun, his hands much more graceful.

"Then are we like them?" Desmond demanded, "They would leave us in the mud. Would you lump us together with humans?"

The men of the town looked at him, shamed, "No," Shaun said, "I am chaeir'q."

"Then we burn fourteen bodies," and Desmond started down the hill, the five other men of their little town followed after him. The women started to pick up their life and go about what they'd been doing before one of the children had come saying soldiers came from the east.

—

It was late summer and all the fruit was coming out, the trees and bushes thick with fruit. Desmond was out looking for tasty things whistling as he did. He wasn't much of a singer but most chaeir'q were excellent whistlers since they did not sing. Instead they had whistle songs that to them were as magnificent as any ballad or epic of Kav, Aleria or Gerjin. His whistle reached the top of the trees and echoed around him, the birds calling back to him and keeping the bigger animals away. He was close to where the swamp met the forest and eventually became jungle, looking up at the trees.

He stopped mid whistle when he spotted a tree and smiled. An avocado tree. He went to it and unslung the basket he'd strapped to his back and using the same straps he'd used to attach to his back he strapped it to a low branch. With a grunt he climbed into the tree, his bare feet scraping against the bark. Desmond picked one of the big avocados from a branch, one that was a perfect ripeness, and used a knife on his belt to split it open. He groaned, delicious.

He leaned against the thin trunk and ate the avocado, dropping the pit and the skins on the forest floor below when he was done with them. An excellent treat. He picked a few more and put them gently into his basket, all of them nearly as hard as rocks. Once he was done he jumped down from the tree with a grunt. He stood up slowly, suddenly wary. All the birds had stopped singing.

Desmond just had time to hear a soft twang before pain ripped up his calf and he cried out, falling to the side. He looked and saw an arrow with red feathers sticking out of his calf. Shit who had shot him? He gathered his magic close, ready to say the words, as he tried to find his attacker. "Keep your mouth shut, or I'll shoot you in the throat," and from behind a shrub a man stepped elegantly, he wore soft shoes that made no noise on the forest floor and had a bow, the string pulled back to his ear, aimed right at Desmond's head. He swallowed. "You gonna talk, or am I going to shoot you?" they asked, Desmond shook his head. There was no way he could speak fast enough to deflect the arrow. "Good," they stepped slowly over to him, as wary of Desmond as Desmond was of him.

"What do you want?" Desmond spoke, as always, with his hands.

"Don't use that crazy hand symbols on me," the man growled. Desmond gave him a look, well he wasn't going to waste his precious words to talk any other way that was for sure. Then the man squinted at Desmond, "I know you," he said lowly. He did? Desmond had never met him in his life, "You don't remember me?" Desmond shook his head, "Just as well. Like I want some damn chaeir'q knowing me." Desmond could say the same, damn humans.

"Take the arrow out of your leg," he ordered, Desmond looked at him and rose his brows. "Don't give me that, do it. Desmond reached out and touched the shaft in his leg, that was all he could do before his hands jerks back and he gave a pained cry. The bowman scowled at him but he wasn't touching that damn arrow. If he was getting it out he was going to use his words and then heal himself. He doubted this man would allow him to though. "Well," they snapped. Desmond glared at him, "Oh great gods," he groaned and contemplated what to do.

He lowered his bow and before Desmond could get out even one syllable the man had his hand clapped across Desmond's mouth, "Not a word," he hissed. Desmond shoved at him, tugging at his hand and the man grabbed the shaft of the arrow and twisted it. Desmond screamed into his hand and spots formed in front of his eyes. Stunned and dazed from the pain the man managed to tie his hands together and stuffed a piece of cloth wrapped around a rock into his mouth. "More trouble than you're worth," the man grunted and snapped the end of the arrow off and pushed it the rest of the way through Desmond's calf, pulling it out all the way. Desmond yelled around the rock gag. He'd just experienced more pain in forty five seconds then he had in nearly a a hundred years on R'habanan. It was making his head swim and eyes water.

The man took his pack off and pulled out a roll of bandages and a bottle. With Desmond's own knife he cut off the pant leg of the one the arrow had pierced and poured some amber liquid on the wound. Desmond cried out again and ran through every curse he knew in his head since he couldn't speak anyway, the amber liquid stung. Then the man wrapped his calf with the roll of bandages, tightly, to keep a consistent pressure. The man put his arrow in the quiver by his thigh and his bow and his pack went back on his shoulders.

He gently smacked Desmond's cheeks, "You going to faint chaeir'q?" he asked, meanly. Desmond shook his head, not that he didn't deserve to, from how much this man had just hurt him! He yelled at the man through his gag, "Oh shut up," they rolled their eyes and picked Desmond up, throwing Desmond over his shoulders like he weighed nothing. Desmond struggled, through one of his legs was lame, but the man just grabbed his wrists and his flailing leg and started to walk off. Desmond was clearly just an inconvenience. One of the most powerful mages this side of R'habanan and he'd been reduced to an inconvenience, unable to even use magic with the gag in his mouth. He settled for just glaring a hole into the side of his kidnapper's head.

—

For the third night in a row Desmond was basically dropped onto the ground as the sun started to set. His leg jarred him and his eyes watered. The man unpacked and set up a small camp. The first day Desmond had managed to get his gag out and said one word before the man had smashed him in the face so hard he'd actually been knocked out for a few moments. When he came back to his arms were bound behind his back. He couldn't feel them now and he was just sore all over.

The man got a dinner together and took out Desmond's gag and shoved food in his mouth so he couldn't speak and had to chew, keeping his mouth full so he couldn't talk. Then the gag went back in, Desmond was getting real tired of feeling this damn rock in his mouth.

The man ate his own dinner and Desmond looked up when someone suddenly came out from a bush. His eyes widened, it was the commander from that battle he'd defeated a few weeks ago. He wore his plumed helmet and metal breastplate still but both looked dirty. The man who'd captured him sprung to his feet with his hatchet he used as a weapon other than his bow. "Who're you?" he demanded of the Kav commander.

"What are you doing with that chaeir'q?" the commander asked.

"Taking him to Kav, let him dance," the man said.

The commander frowned, "No you're not."

"To hell with you, this is my chaeir'q, find your own," he spat.

"Make it easy for yourself and just leave."

"Fuck off, this is my chaeir'q and my camp," he raised his hatchet.

The Kav commander tackled the hunter and Desmond watched, wide eyed, as they grappled on the ground, both trying ground on each other. In the end the Kav commander got his hand on the hatchet's handle and sat up across the hunter's waist. The hunter screamed as the commander brought the hatchet down onto his chest. Once, twice, three times, the hunter was dead and the commander was panting, blood splattered on his breast plate. "Enough chaeir'q death," he sighed and pushed himself up, leaving the hatchet buried in the hunter's chest.

He walked over to Desmond who leaned back, wary, he was defenseless and he knew it. "Lets see how you look," the commander said, still wearing his helmet, and took Desmond's face in his hands. "Knocked you around a bit didn't he?" Desmond didn't answer. "I'm going to ungag you and cut your bindings, so don't kill you, I mean you no harm calta," he said, hands off Desmond's face. Desmond just blinked in surprise that the commander knew the word calta. "Okay?" he asked. Desmond nodded, he was too curious to kill this man, plus they'd just saved him. The man took the rock out of his mouth and Desmond moved his jaw around, glad to be able to feel his mouth properly again. He felt his rope bindings being cut from his arms. "There you go," he patted Desmond's shoulder and came around to the front again.

"Thank you," Desmond said with his hands.

The man looked at him sadly and then, to his surprise he said, "You're welcome," also with his hands.

"You speak Chae?" Desmond asked, confused.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Story for another time," he crouched down next to Desmond and unwrapped his leg, "Heal yourself," he said, still with his hands. He had a strange cadence when he spoke with his hands, like a spoken accent, Desmond was amazed by it. Desmond spoke the words to heal and mend and at the least the skin healed over. "You better?"

"I'm still injured. It's hard to heal yourself," Desmond said and touched his calf, at least it didn't hurt, "I also had to cleanse it of infection. I'm better at warcraft than healing," he said.

"That you are. What's your name calta?" he asked.

"I am no calta. My name is Desmond."

"Altair," it was a Kav name, just like his clothes were Kav, and the sword at his side was Kav. "Lets get you up and back to your people. Can you walk?"

"I think," Desmond said and Altair helped him stand, it hurt to put weight on his leg, Altair wrapped an arm around his waist to help him.

"My camp is close," Altair said aloud.

"I like your Chae better," Desmond said, one handed since his arm was around Altair's shoulders.

"I can't talk one handed," Altair still spoke aloud.

"Then don't," Altair said nothing and helped Desmond hobble to his camp where there was a small fire. Desmond sat on the ground with a grunt of pain and said some words to ease the pain in his calf. "I know you," he said as Altair finally took off his helmet.

"You saw me," Altair said and Desmond scowled when he spoke with words. Like all chaeir'q he found spoken words to be precious, you didn't speak verbally unless you had something important to say. Desmond said nothing as Altair took off his breast plate and sat across the fire from him since Altair wouldn't stop to answer him if his hands were full.

"Why did you help me?"

Altair sighed, "Better than letting some innocent die pointlessly," he said with his hands, which Desmond liked. He liked the cadence of them.

"What did that man want with me?"

"He was going to take you to the capital. Godking Kil says that anyone who brings a chaeir'q alive there will be rewarded. The chaeir'q have their tongue cut out and made to dance on hot coals for the entertainment of the people of the city," clearly it didn't please Altair to tell him this.

"And they call us barbarians," Desmond snorted in contempt.

"Sadly," Altair said, his hands slow, he looked up at the dark sky. "Sleep, tomorrow we'll head back to your town."

"Why are you helping me?" Desmond asked.

"Don't worry about that," Altair said and turned away from Desmond and lay his head down on his pack. Desmond watched him for a few minutes before he also lay down, using an arm as a pillow, and he too fell asleep.

—

The way back to Desmond's town was a long one. It had taken the hunter three days to leave the town, but since Desmond had a lame leg it was taking longer. At the very least he could heal himself a bit more every day though not too much, he needed someone better at healing than him to look at it so he didn't end up crippling himself. Altair also talked to him as Desmond taught him one handed chae so the walk wasn't so boring.

"Why didn't you lead your men in the attack?" he asked Altair as they stopped to rest.

"I was part of a larger group. We attacked your city, calta destroyed most of us. Those who weren't were scattered. Me and my men were headed back to Kav when we saw your town. They wanted revenge, I wanted to go home. They organized themselves behind my back and tried to take your town, I wanted no part of it. I've fought chaeir'q before," clearly he took no pleasure in it. "I've seen villages burned to the ground, men and women run at the sight of us. They want no part in these fights. They can't defend themselves," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm tired of seeing people who can barely fight back fall to our swords, or worse women held down by six men with a sword to her throat so she won't speak as they have their way with her," he looked at Desmond, "it isn't right."

"It isn't," Desmond agreed.

"And most towns don't have a calta to protect them."

Desmond flushed a little, "I am no calta."

"Might as well be," Altair sagged a little. "Lets get going again," and he helped Desmond up and they started walking through the forest again. At least they'd left the jungle behind now and it was an easier progress than the jungle.

"You still haven't told me how you know chae," Desmond said when they stopped for the night and Altair had come back with dinner.

Altair hesitated and seemed afraid for a moment, then, slowly, he reached down and pulled up one of his pant legs. Desmond's face went slack at what he saw. Words were scribed onto Altair's skin, each letter as high as Desmond's fingers were thick at the biggest joint. Desmond's mouth opened a little. "I'm chaeir'q," Altair said with his hands and clearly hated himself for it, for being what he was.

"You work for the Kav!"

"I have no choice," Altair was looking down, his hands moving but seemed purposeless. He looked up just to see what Desmond had to say.

"Says who?"

"I was born to serve the Godking, I have nothing else. He has a spell on me, like he has on his faithful dog, to keep me in place."

"And what if you don't? Serve that awful human," he actually growled a little, audibly.

"Kil is not human. He is god on earth-

"Deer shit," Desmond said, agitated. "He is no god. They are human."

Altair frowned at him, "You've never met him, you don't know. He is a god."

"He's a fraud no doubt," Desmond rolled his eyes, the movement of his hands sharp. "Who taught you chae?"

"His faithful dog," Altair said, "Traytor," and Desmond's eyes narrowed. "It was better if I lived long enough to have purpose," Altair sighed.

"How old are you?" Desmond demanded.

"Twenty," Altair said but he looked like a man in his mid thirties, no doubt the words were on his chest to make him so old. For chaeir'q words were life, the more they covered your skin the older you appeared. Desmond had been little during the second mage war but he still looked like he was a teenager, his words tiny and tight and still not even filled his mid back. The second mage war had been almost a seventy years ago.

"I'm sorry," Desmond said.

"Me too," Altair sighed. Altair knew he probably wouldn't live past thirty, if that. They shared no more that night, Desmond still reeling from Altair's confession, his reveal. He honestly didn't even know what to say to the other chaeir'q. Altair knew his days and words were numbered. Death would come for Altair, and it would be sooner than it came for Desmond who had decades and decades and probably centuries in front of him. Altair's life was painfully short in comparison, especially since he had to serve a fake king who styled himself a god. Desmond stayed up late thinking about it, about how horrible it had to be to be Altair, who knew his time was limited but lived in a world where he must speak aloud and waste more words, more precious moments of his already short life.

In the morning Altair didn't bring up what had happened last night. He just helped Desmond up and they started walking. It took till the afternoon before they talked again. "What are you going to do when we get to my town?" he asked.

"I'll go home," Altair said.

"Why weren't you already there? It's been a few weeks since your attack."

Altair's hands hesitated, "I did not want to look at the people who would slaughter mine," he said, his hands trembling like they were betraying him. "I did not ask to be born here, to have to lead assaults on the chaeir'q, I just-

Desmond put his hands over Altair's, silencing him. "I do not blame you," he said with one hand and squeezed Altair's fingers. "Lets go," he pushed himself painfully to his feet and wrapped an arm around Altair's shoulders. The rest of the day they only talked about less heavy things and Desmond entertained Altair with his whistle songs. Altair was amazed by them and by Desmond's ability to mimic bird songs with his whistle. Altair couldn't whistle though Desmond coached him through it and by the end of the next day Altair could whistle, through with no real purpose behind his notes. Desmond laughed when Altair tried to mimic one of the song birds in the forest, failed and the Desmond did so perfectly.

It took them about seven days to get back to the hill where Desmond lived. His leg still hurt but he could sort of walk on it a bit more, not just stumbling along next to Altair. He still needed someone better at healing to see to the wound. "This is where we say goodbye," Altair said and unhooked Desmond's arm from his shoulder. Desmond could stand on his own without too much pain. "Be safe," he said.

"Thank you, Altair," Desmond said, aloud, "I hope I may see you again," Altair was staring at him. Desmond had not spoken once in the seven days they were together. He felt the feather light touch of magic scrawling itself onto his skin, next to the words he'd used to destroy Altair's men.

"I know it's counter productive," Altair said with his hands, "but you should talk more, you have a beautiful voice," Desmond laughed and shook his head with a grin.

"Goodbye," Desmond said with his hands once more and started up the hill, he did walk with a limp but it was manageable, not like the first few days where it had been lacing pain. As he got closer Desmond started to whistle loudly, announcing himself. Heads stuck out of the flaps of their home and in moments everyone knew Desmond was home.

Everyone wanted to welcome Desmond home, not just because he was one of them, but because he protected them. They all hugged him, hands on his back and shoulders, fingers running through his hair, arms going around his shoulders or back or waist. They were all glad he was home and he hugged them all in turn, smiling all the while.

A shrill whistle sounded and they all looked at the source. It was Desmond's father, he'd fought in the first mage war and was not only very old, but looked it, his hair silver and face with many fine lines. "Where have you been?" he asked Desmond, he was missing the tips of three fingers and it gave his words a strange brutality that Desmond knew he didn't always mean.

"Some Kav hunter wanted to take me to the capital and cut my tongue out," he said, "Bastard shot me," he showed off his calf where the angry wound still was.

"Seven days?"

"It took me awhile to kill him, I was bound and gagged. I killed him though," he said neatly.

"Good," and his father embraced him warmly, Desmond hugged his father back.

"I need someone to see to my leg, it hurts," Desmond said. Someone snapped their fingers, volunteering to look at it. Slowly they all dispersed to go back to what they were doing, though hands and fingers still brushed against his skin, reminding themselves he was home, and reminding him he was safe with them. Desmond looked down the hill as he followed someone into their home to finish the healing on his leg, Altair was standing just inside the treeline, he'd watched the whole thing. Then Desmond looked away and entered the house.

—

Desmond was out looking for the last of the year's fruits, his small basket strapped to his thigh. He a papaya tree and climbed it, cutting down the last few fruits and putting them into his basket. He jumped down from the tree and went to find more. Avocado tree, he always had luck with avocado trees in this area. He put his basket down, since it was too heavy to climb with and climbed the tree. He found a few of the fruits that hadn't rotted yet and plucked them and brought them back down to his basket.

His only warning was a brief whistle and he stood up to catch the whistler when lips were being pressed against his own. Desmond only stopped for a moment before kissing back, his eyes falling closed, arms going around the whistler's neck. He knew exactly who it was because he knew that whistle and knew the feel of these lips against his.

Altair pressed his forehead to Desmond's breathlessly and tapped out a 'hello' onto his neck. Desmond grinned and kissed Altair again as his own hello. Since they'd met nearly ten years ago Altair seemed to come back again and again, always from doing something for the fake godking in Kav. Desmond didn't ask what he did, he didn't want to know. Apparently it was easier to send Altair than the 'godking's' attack dog, Traytor, who he didn't let out of his sight. This kissing thing had started seven years ago.

Altair's hands looped around Desmond's thighs and lifted up, and pushed Desmond's back against the trunk of the tree. Desmond put his hand between his and Altair's mouths since he felt a hurried urgency to Altair. "What?" Desmond asked once Altair pulled back enough to see his hand.

"I can't be happy to see you?" Altair asked him.

"You can be," Desmond admitted and Altair kissed him again, gentler this time. Desmond savored the taste of Altair's mouth, and the full rounded shape of it. No one could know they were doing this or they'd both be seen as traitors. Desmond to his people, Altair to his nation. It made their affair exciting though, to steal this time. He grunted when Altair started to drop down to his knees and wiggled because his bare back was scraping against the bark of the tree. He pushed Altair off him so he could move properly down to the ground. "What is into you?" he asked since he still felt like Altair was being, not pushy, but anxious, urgent in a way he wasn't normally.

Altair sighed and sat back a little so Desmond could actually get a good look at him for the first time. His eyes widened. Half of Altair's face was covered in words, stopping just under his nose. "I wanted my last words to be with you," Altair said aloud and the words appeared on his skin like being written there Chaegoif. Desmond clapped his hand across Altair's mouth to stop him from saying more.

"Say no more," Desmond told him firmly with one hand. "Just… do not," he said it miserably. Altair had a handful of sentences left and they both knew it. Desmond still had not finished filling in the middle of his back.

"I'll only speak when you say," Altair said with one hand, the other cradling Desmond's jaw.

"Yes you will," Desmond said and kissed him, this time now feeling how old Altair's skin felt against his. He was barely thirty but looked almost twenty years older. Desmond didn't care. For chaeir'q age was all relative, the man Desmond was kissing was fifty years his junior but looked thirty years older, and Desmond didn't care.

He groaned softly when Altair pushed against him and they moved to find something like a comfortable spot on the ground against the tree, touching him and eventually taking him. He might have looked fifty but Altair still had the vitality of his real age and that was probably the more important part. They shuttered together before falling apart all at once blissfully. Altair was curled around him, Desmond's legs over Altair's thighs, Altair gently kissing his neck.

"I wanted to see you one last time," Altair said aloud. Desmond smacked his back, "I don't want to be away from you to speak," one hand said awkwardly and he nuzzled into Desmond's neck. Desmond said nothing, because Altair wouldn't see and just ran his fingers through Altair's hair which was more silver than black now and he sighed.

Desmond gasped when Altair took him again, gentler this time, one hand threading through Desmond's. "Say my name," Altair whispered into Desmond's ear.

"Altair," he whimpered, his other hand digging into Altair's back. Altair sighed happily and kissed against his neck. When they finished Altair said nothing but did pull both their pants back up. Altair seemed exhausted from those two times and sat next to Desmond, Desmond was still trying to get himself together. He always felt slightly disorientated when he and Altair made love, no matter the kind, but this way especially left him kind of dazed, because it always felt so good in ways he didn't expect to feel good.

Altair put his head on Desmond's shoulder and took Desmond's hand. Desmond snapped his fingers to make him look, "How long are you here for?" he always asked that question when Altair came, after the usual of Altair taking him, in some way, against some surface.

"I'm not leaving," Altair said and Desmond's heart dropped. "I don't want to die talking to soldiers who don't understand what they do when they make their strong, silent, commander, speak."

Desmond rubbed Altair's hand, "I won't make you speak," he said it gently and reached over to touch Altair's face, "You'll never have to speak again," but they knew it wa impossible. Even if Altair never said another word in his life keeping it all bottled up was just as dangerous. You speak to much; you die as your life gets written onto your skin. You speak too little; the magical build up destroys your organs and body, leaving you dead and covered in black splotches like ink stains. He kissed Altair gently, wanting to give him some of the thousands of words Desmond had left.

"Better this way," Altair said when they parted and Desmond could see his hand. "Now I won't have to serve Kil anymore."

"A poor consolation," Desmond said angrily.

"I won't have to kill chaeir'q anymore, or send men into battle to kill them," and he stroked Desmond's chin. They sat beside each other for a long time, the sun moving slowly in the sky. Desmond held Altair's hand the entire time. "Do you love me?" Altair asked with his voice after a few hours. Desmond nodded. "Tell me you do," his words were under his eyes now. Altair was going to talk himself to a tender death, and Desmond was going to be right here to watch him do it. This time sitting here Altair had no doubt been thinking of what he was going to spend his last few sentences on.

Desmond wrapped both his arms around Altair and pressed his face into his neck, "I fell in love with snow," he told Altair softly and the words started to form on his back as they left his mouth. He'd only heard of snow from his father when they'd lived in Aleria briefly and it snowed in the winter. "It was a beautiful, but deadly thing, but doesn't last long. Spring and sun always chases snow away. It always returns but it always chased away, such is the fate of snow," his voice was shaking, he hadn't said so many words that weren't to destroy in a long time.

"And what are you? The sun?" Altair asked softly.

"No," Desmond swallowed, "I am the clouds. Always welcoming the snow back, no matter how many times the sun chases it away, it is always welcome there." He squeezed Altair tightly. "And never wants it to go," and he very nearly started to cry. Altair had his arms around Desmond as well, like he could somehow stay forever if he held on long enough. "I would never be the sun, that chased the snow away," Desmond said thickly. Altair pressed his face against Desmond's neck and just stayed there for a long time.

"I love you too," Altair said into his ear and Desmond was so afraid those were his last words he sat back to look at Altair's face. They weren't. There was still some space on his forehead.

"Please stop talking," Desmond said. Altair shook his head. "Yes."

"You're the best thing I have," Altair said and reached up with one hand to wipe away something under Desmond's eye he realized were tears. "I want to go on my own time, and you to share these last words." There was no more space on his forehead.

Desmond pressed his hands across Altair's mouth. "You have no more room," Desmond said softly, miserably.

"I know," Altair said with his hands, "Will you let me have my last words?" Desmond shook his head. "Desmond-

"I don't want you to die!" he cried.

"I'm not. I'm returning to the earth," Altair said, "Now will you?"

With reservation Desmond took his hands off Altair's mouth. Altair kissed him deeply, sweetly, savoring their last kiss and Desmond tried to not ruin it with his tears. Altair's eyes were dry, he'd come to terms with his own death. Altair kissed him slowly, thoroughly, and Desmond memorized the taste and feel of Altair's mouth and lips, because it was the last time he'd get to kiss them. Altair cupped his jaw in both hands and pulled back, though Desmond chased his lips to keep them there.

"I'm so glad you're that cloud that found me," and Desmond watched as his last words scrawled across his eyes and then Altair went still and limp and fell over to his side with a soft thump. Desmond sat there, not looking at the body, but instead straight ahead, his tears silent but heavy, making it hard to see and making his face become red and puffy. He sat there for a long time before he could will himself to look down at Altair. Altair was looking behind Desmond, his eyes open but he didn't look afraid of death, he looked at peace with it. Desmond pressed his hand across Altair's eys to close them, because he didn't want to see his dead eyes, or his final words in his eyes.

Desmond sat in silent vigil for the rest of the day and into the night, watching over Altair's body. There was no one else to mourn him except Desmond, no one else would miss him. Such was the way of a chaeir'q who served the fake god of Kav. The moon rose high into the sky and it was only then that Desmond moved. He stood up on aching legs from sitting so long and looked down at Desmond. "Goodbye," Desmond said softly and then gathered his power around him and for the first time in a long time used his magic for something other than destruction.

A spark started on Altair's body and it grew quickly to an inferno at Desmond's words. The flames engulfed Altair's form, magic used to keep the smell of burning flesh and hair from escaping too far to lure animals. Desmond watched him burn down into nothing but pale ashes, silent again. Then the fire finally burned itself out after having consumed all that Altair had been. All that remained was a long pile of ash. He knelt next to it and picked up a small amount of it. Normally ashes were left to spread across the R'habanan to create new life, but desmond took that small amount of ashes and put it into one of the empty charms on his belt. He'd been keeping it empty until he found the right thing to go into it, the entire talisman complete except for the catalyst that went into it.

The catalyst made it what it was and Desmond knew what it was and why he'd made it as soon as he sealed Altair's ashes into it. It was a talisman to find love and to have a long life to share that love with the people who meant everything to him. His heart clenched thinking that the man he'd loved and had loved him had had to die to make it. With a heavy heart Desmond left Altair's ashes and got his basket. Altair wasn't there anymore, he was part of R'habanan now. It didn't make the loss any easier, no matter how much he told himself it should.


End file.
